


A Wish Fulfilled

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S4 timescale. Jimmy’s frustrations externalise themselves with unhappy consequences for Thomas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wish Fulfilled

‘Just in case no one’s told you…’ Said Jimmy, dropping down into the seat next to Thomas in the servant’s hall with all the gracelessness of extreme fatigue. ‘…playing cards alone generally denotes a man with no friends.’

Thomas gave a laugh, more livened by the new company than the teasing jest. ‘Well…’ He said, looking down at the growing piles of cards of his reasonably successful game of solitaire. ‘…it’s not as though there’s anyone else about.’ He gave a small sweep of his hand to indicate the otherwise empty servant’s hall. ‘Why are you up so late? I thought I heard Carson dismiss you a half hour ago.’ Thomas gathered the cards up into a single pile, despite the certainty (with all aces out and both numbers and colours in marvelous concords on the cascades) that he was cheating himself out of the satisfaction of ‘winning’.

Jimmy sniffed and stretched his arms lazily above his head, drawing a small smile from Thomas who always appreciated the moments when Jimmy’s carefully calculated demeanor and posture slipped in his presence. ‘I thought I might as well get a head start on collecting in the glasses from the smoking room and the drawing room.’ Jimmy said, his hands coming to rest behind his neck, his bent elbows bracketing his head. ‘Figured there would be enough to do tomorrow to prepare for the arrival of the Ladies’ Group without having to worry about that.’

‘Very good Jimmy.’ Said Thomas, looking slyly at him out of the corner of his eye. ‘You’ll have Carson and I out of a job if you keep being so efficient!’

Jimmy chuckled, beaming broadly as he met Thomas’s gaze. ‘Should I go put them back then? So you’ve got something to tell me to do tomorrow?’ He teased.

‘Oh I’m sure I’ll think of something else to order you to do.’ Thomas replied without missing a beat.

They both looked awkwardly away from one another; something of a habit now following the frequent occasions where teasing became a little too warm and _familiar_ for comfort.

‘Well it’s nice of you to grace me with your presence this evening…’ Thomas began dryly by way of segue. ‘…truth be told I was wondering if I’d done something to offend you these past couple of days.’

‘No.’ Said Jimmy nonchalantly.

‘No…?’ Repeated Thomas, leaning an elbow on the table to rest his head upon as he turned to look at Jimmy, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

‘No.’ Jimmy asserted. ‘I’ve just been busy. And you’ve been busy too…’ He said, adding at a mutter. ‘…with _her_.’

‘Oh I knew it.’ Thomas laughed, rocking back a little in his seat. ‘But I must admit I don’t see why Edna bothers you so? She’s a fairly middling sort in almost all regards, and she’s never said a bad word about you.’

‘It’s not that I don’t like her.’ Said Jimmy, tapping the tips of his fingers against the table as though to dispel some unwanted nervous energy. ‘It’s just…she’s the only one you seem to have time for.’

Thomas’s eyes widened.

‘Jimmy, are you…?’

‘Anyway.’ Jimmy said briskly, his face suddenly several shades whiter than usual, practically jumping out of his chair. ‘I should be getting off to bed.’

‘Wait!’ Thomas’s chair scraped back as well as he followed Jimmy to his feet. ‘You can’t just…Jimmy, we obviously need to talk about this.’

‘About what?’ Said Jimmy, spinning about to face him with a shrug and a smile, an odd twitch in his jaw giving away his level of agitation and discomfort.

‘Will you calm down and sit for a moment.’ Said Thomas, indicating their two empty chairs. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t see that there’s anything to talk about.’ Said Jimmy resolutely, jutting his chin out in a manner reminiscent of a stubborn child.

‘Jimmy…’ Thomas tried again, his voice soft and soothing. ‘…we need to talk about this. Truth be told, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time and…’

‘And what, Thomas?’ Jimmy exclaimed. ‘Honestly you’ll drive yourself mad if you think me wanting to spend some time with a friend means that there’s _something to talk about_.’

‘I know it upsets you. That’s why I’ve tried to keep this to myself, and you know I have these past few months especially.’ Said Thomas, looking apologetically towards the floor. ‘But we’re going to have to talk about this at some…’

He was cut off by the utterly unexpected sensation of lips crushing up against his own.

In the time it took to blink, Jimmy had crossed the distance between them, taken his face roughly between his hands, and kissed him.

‘Mpfh…Jimmy, what…?’

Jimmy silenced him with another kiss, hard enough to swell the lips, their teeth clashing together in a most ungainly way.

‘Jimmy…?’

‘Shut up.’ Jimmy snapped at him, moving in for a third kiss before thinking better of it. He stood staring at Thomas’s shocked face for a moment, breathing erratic and heart pounding.

The sight of a hint of a smile at Thomas’s bruised lips tipped him well and truly over the edge.

‘Turn around.’ He ordered, tugging at Thomas’s hip to bring him against the table.

‘Jimmy, what are you…Ah!’ Thomas’s stomach painfully collided with the edge of the table as Jimmy pushed him over it.

‘I said, SHUT UP.’ Jimmy shouted at him, his voice cracking as he spoke, his fingers desperately unsteady as he fumbled at the front of Thomas’s trousers.

‘Jesus, Jimmy. You can’t just…’ Thomas went to grab for his waistband as Jimmy pulled, but found his hand replaced firmly back on the table, wrist trapped in Jimmy’s grip.

The moment had come about so fast that it wasn’t until the feeling of cold skin against skin as Jimmy tugged down his own clothes that Thomas even began to properly process the situation.

‘Jimmy, wait!’

‘Why? It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Jimmy hissed into his ear, grappling for some time with the logistics of penetration before finally managing to push past Thomas’s defenses. He let out a deep guttural moan upon finally sliding into Thomas.

Thomas, for his part, found the sensation by turn so excruciating and strange that vocalisation of any kind was temporarily a complete impossibility. It wasn’t until he felt his body loosen up enough, abandoning attempts to frustrate Jimmy’s efforts, that he was even able to cry.

Everything about it was wrong; the rough thrusts, the unfeeling grip at the back of his neck, the repeated bruising of his hips against the table…he could find nothing redeeming about the situation save that it was Jimmy laboring over him.

The forlorn hope that Jimmy would somehow redeem himself once the heat of the moment had passed kept Thomas from losing himself entirely as he was repeatedly thrust into against the table.

But he found no comfort to be had when Jimmy, after taking a moment to lie quietly over him, recovering after spilling inside him with an animalistic cry, moved a good few feet away from him to attend to the matter of putting his clothes to rights.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

Thomas shrank back from the coldness in Jimmy’s voice as he pushed himself up from the table into something that was almost a standing position.

‘I just…’ Thomas reached, wincing, to grasp at his trousers and underwear, attempting to pull them back up, feeling strangely numb. ‘…could you not kiss me or…something.’ He struggled to get the words out past the wracking sobs that took over as he began to talk.

‘What?’ Said Jimmy curtly, the strength in his voice concealing his alarm and discomfort at the state of Thomas. ‘But _this_ is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ He said, his voice hardening to hide his unease by sheer force of will.

‘Well…’ Thomas began, his voice a good few octaves higher than usual. ‘…yes, I suppose.’ He said.

‘Then what’s the bloody problem?’ Said Jimmy, shaking, desperately wanting a cigarette but finding himself loathe to request one from the man still struggling to get back into his clothing.

‘I’ve never done this.’ Said Thomas weakly.

‘What do you mean you’ve never done it? It’s what your lot _do_ isn’t it?’

‘I never…’ Thomas tried, giving up at a keening cry that forced release before he was able to continue. ‘I mean, there’s been bits here and there. But never this.’ He looked imploringly at Jimmy, temporarily abandoning his quest to get his shirt tucked in and his trousers done up. ‘ I never did because…well the time was never right. I always thought it would be…’ He couldn’t finish.

‘Would be _what_?’ Jimmy prompted angrily, caught uncomfortably in Thomas’s eyes, taking a few more steps away to be free of them. The shaking in his shoulders increased as he stared unwillingly at Thomas’s misery.

‘Special.’ That was the word that Thomas couldn’t say, because it seemed so pathetic even in his own mind.

‘I just thought…’ Thomas began slowly.

‘What? What was it you _thought_ , Thomas?’ Jimmy demanded.

‘I thought the person…’ Thomas was utterly unable to say ‘you’. ‘…would care about…me. Would maybe hold me, and kiss me and…’

From his position, Jimmy began to shake his head violently. All but covering his ears to block out Thomas’s words.

‘Well…well it’s done now.’ Said Jimmy determinedly, cutting Thomas off, his voice far more steady than he looked. ‘I should be getting to bed.’ He added.

He attempted nonchalance as he retreated for the door, still panting slightly from the evening’s exertion, viciously swiping away the unwelcome tears that had appeared from nowhere to run down his cheeks. ‘Goodnight Mr Barrow.’ He said quietly, not turning to look over his shoulder as he walked out of the hall.

Thomas collapsed forwards, his forehead coming to rest against the cool wood of the table as his body abandoned all efforts to keep him upright.

‘Mr Carson!’ Jimmy’s unusually loud greeting to the man he had unexpectedly bumped into in the corridor gave Thomas just enough warning to sit down and pull the chair tight up against the table to hide his state of undress before Carson appeared in the doorway, having bidden Jimmy a goodnight.

He could not, unfortunately, do anything about his face.

Carson took in the sight of Thomas’s tear streaked and blotchy skin with an expression of weariness.

‘Well it’s as best that the matter be dealt with.’ Said Carson, looking a little awkward despite maintaining his usual air of authority. ‘Even if you find the answer not to be the one you hoped for.’

Thomas mutely nodded, barely listening to him.

‘It’s best that you abandon this silliness, Mr Barrow…’

THAT caught Thomas’s attention. He turned to look at Carson in confusion.

‘…and leave James be.’ Said Carson, indicating the doorway through which Jimmy had vanished moments earlier. ‘It is not fair that the young man be made to continually defend himself from your…designs.’

Thomas could do nothing more than turn his head back around.

‘I’ll bid you goodnight, Mr Barrow.’ Said Carson gruffly.

He began to make his way out into the corridor.

‘Mr Carson!’ Thomas called after him.

‘Yes, Mr Barrow?’ Said Carson, pausing en route.

The truth was Thomas didn’t want to be alone. The truth was he needed to talk to somebody.

The truth was that there was no one else in the household he could turn to.

‘Goodnight, Mr Carson.’ Said Thomas softly.

Carson’s face softened a little.

'Mr Barrow, you know I am not _entirely_ unsympathetic. But you do rather _invite_ disappointment on yourself.'

'I think I do, Mr Carson' Thomas agreed.

Carson gave a stiff nod, satisfied his duty was done.

After Carson left Thomas remained, alone, blankly staring at the wall in the empty servant’s hall until the night had almost fully passed into morning.

It wasn’t quite dawn when he finally rose to take on the herculean task of climbing the stairs up to his room, but it was close. In the almost total silence of a world at sleep, he could hear the shrill calls of early birds through the attic skylight as he finally made it to the men’s quarters; the birdsong a cruel reminder that the chance for a good night’s sleep had come and passed.

He had never wanted a bath more in his life. Not so much for cleansing, but to be covered by the warmth of the water; as close to comforting envelopment as he could get. But the early hour precluded the task on account of both a lack of hot water and the noise that would surely accompany filling the tub.

He didn’t like the face that looked back at him in the mirror as he entered his bedroom in the grey light of pre-dawn. Thomas made sure to turn away as he stripped off his clothes, not bothering to re-hang them with the usual care, and did his best with a coarse wash cloth and cold water to bring himself back to feeling something resembling human.

There were less than twenty minutes to go until the six o’clock wakeup call by the time he’d finished, his progress hindered by repeated instances of his wandering mind putting him into a trance like state, lasting several minutes at a time, meaning the simple task of washing (already rendered more problematic than usual by the events of the night) took more than three times the length of time it usually would; and Thomas usually took a _lot_ of time over personal care.

Thomas looked bleakly at the clock, his eyes feeling heavy and clumsy as he fought to get them into focus enough to read the time.

His heart sank as he mentally acknowledged that at this point he would do better to just get into his day clothes.

But he was also aware that he absolutely couldn’t face the day without something resembling sleep, however brief.

Climbing onto his bed, not bothering with his nightclothes, Thomas slid down between the sheets and closed his eyes.

He awoke to thunderous bangs on the door, accompanied by the news that he had missed breakfast; the time on the clock reading half past six.

‘I’ll need you to go over the order sheets for the dried goods suppliers.’ Carson gruffly informed Thomas, catching him the moment he reached the foot of the stairs. ‘See if there’s anything missing in comparison to last month’s order and then put the total in the red record book. You can work in my office. I will be attending his Lordship.’

‘Right away, Mr Carson.’ Said Thomas, scurrying away a little too eagerly down the corridor.

Carson looked suspiciously after him, wondering why Thomas seemed to be quite so grateful for a mind numbingly dull task that was intended to be a punishment; initially for harassing James the previous night, but now also for waking late.

Thomas pulled the door to Carson’s office shut behind him as he entered, extremely thankful for a few more hours respite, hidden away; already dreading lunch despite it being barely past seven in the morning.

When the time for lunch did come, it was with a feeling of great reluctance that Thomas entered the servant’s hall. He kept his eyes down, acknowledging no one, glad that his usual seat for meal times was to be found the opposite side of the table and down the other end from the location of the previous night’s misdemeanors.

‘There’s no need to be embarrassed Mr Barrow, we all oversleep sometimes.’ Said Mrs Hughes kindly in an effort to put him at ease, correctly deducing his discomfort at being in the servant’s hall, but guessing at entirely the wrong cause.

The attempt at reassurance merely served to draw muffled titters of laughter at Thomas’s expense from some of the other staff.

Though determined to keep his head down, literally and figuratively, until the ordeal of lunch was over, Thomas allowed himself a quick glance up to gauge the whereabouts of Jimmy.

He couldn’t not.

To his misfortune, he chose precisely the moment that Jimmy walked in through the doorway to look up; catching the way that Jimmy halted and faltered as he saw him, before stomping onwards to take his seat as though nothing at all had happened.

‘…several members of the Ladies’ Group will be returning to join the family for dinner this evening…’ Thomas did his utmost to focus on what Carson was saying, suddenly feeling all the more fatigued and disoriented now he was in a public location where he absolutely could not afford to appear so. ‘…and there will be a bridge game in the sitting room…’ Thomas felt his chin connect with his chest, startling him into jerking bolt upright in his seat. ‘…the gentlemen will take drinks over billiards…’ Thomas would have never thought in a thousand years that Carson’s voice could ever be considered soothing, but here he was, desperate to close his eyes. ‘…so Mr Barrow and James will take charge of overseeing the laying of the table.’

Thomas’s fatigue rendered him slow to register what had been said.

But there was no doubt that Jimmy had done so.

‘Couldn’t Alfred do that instead?’ Jimmy said sharply.

Thomas glanced up at him, keeping his lips firmly sealed but astonished at the transparent disdain behind Jimmy’s query.

Carson pursed his lips, glowering down the table. ‘I apologise if I was in any way unclear when I specified that _you_ would help Mr Barrow.’ He said, in a way both subtle and scathingly sarcastic.

‘But, Alfred _could_ do it? Couldn’t he?’ Jimmy persisted.

Thomas allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, noticing that several people (most notably Anna and Mrs Hughes) were glancing curiously in _his_ direction while the doomed exchange between Jimmy and Carson continued. Thomas couldn’t tell if they were curious as to why he hadn’t weighed in on the discussion, given it concerned his work, or whether Jimmy was objecting to being paired with Thomas rather than the work itself. Something, Thomas thought glumly, that must seem very odd to them; given that he and Jimmy had grown to be _such_ close friends those past months.

‘…and that’s final.’ Carson asserted, chin raised, daring Jimmy to continue to query the point.

Carson concluded by shooting Thomas a private (insomuch as only Thomas knew the exact indiscretion it referred to) look of caution, silently reproaching him for whatever he had done the previous night to make Jimmy quite so uncomfortable as to want to avoid him entirely.

Thomas’s head dropped a little lower, staring down blankly at the wood of the table.

That evening Thomas found Jimmy already in the store room adjacent to the dining room when he arrived. Thomas paused at the doorway, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement, watching Jimmy focus harder on the napkins he was folding than he had ever seen a man do before in his life.

Jimmy completely ignored him. And it stung.

Clearing his throat as a means of asserting his presence, Thomas stepped past Jimmy to begin checking the arrangements of the mats on the table. A short while later, Jimmy joined him to lay out the cutlery.

The silence in the room was deafening as they worked, making their way clockwise round opposite sides of the table, as far away from one another as they could be under the circumstances.

Thomas stopped a moment, looking up at Jimmy (who was now directing every inch of his attention to laying out the spoons).

‘How are you?’ He said, face flushing hot at the weakness in his own voice.

Jimmy didn’t look up or say a word.

Thomas turned his attention back to his place settings, trying on Jimmy’s trick of absorbing oneself in the task at hand as a means of temporarily forgetting (or at least avoiding) an unwanted situation.

It worked well, so well in fact that he barely noticed Jimmy momentarily vacating the room to fetch the fine crystal glasses to add to the table.

Thomas found he could pleasantly loose himself in the intricate beauty of fine tableware, the world dissolving away as he adjusted, yet again, the positioning of a plate on a soft leather mat.

Suddenly there was warmth at his back.

A sense of claustrophobia. A sense of panic.

Thomas jerked violently away from the table.

A glass shattered.

‘Look what you’ve bloody done.’ Said Jimmy harshly, drawing back to protect the other glasses on the tray from Thomas’s interference; the glass he had been attempting to place beside the mat now lying on it’s side in pieces. ‘You be sure Mr Carson knows that was you.’ He added as he continued to move around the table, setting down glasses as he went, leaving Thomas to clear up the fractured glass.

Dinner in the servant’s hall had already commenced by the time he and Jimmy made their way down.

Mercifully, the others had saved them their usual seats (opposite sides of the table and at a diagonal angle) so they were not obliged to slot in beside one another at the far end.

Thomas glanced at the far end of the table as they entered the room, wondering if he would ever feel comfortable walking through that part of the room again; a shivering feeling, usually likened to walking over someone’s grave, ghosting up his spine.

‘Are you with us Mr Barrow?’ Said Bates.

Thomas blinked, realizing he had been lingering in the doorway long enough for Jimmy to have already taken his seat and start eating.

God he was tired.

So tired that he couldn’t bring himself to summon a disdainful look for Bates, or to give two figs about his patronizing smile.

Dropping down heavily into his seat, Thomas stared at the plate of food that was immediately set in front of him. It made him feel physically sick.

Thomas rocked a little in his seat to sooth the disquiet in his stomach, but was constrained from doing more by the need for discretion under the prying eyes of the other staff; many of whom, Thomas suspected, had already noted that he wasn’t eating.

‘Are you ill, Mr Barrow?’

Thomas steeled himself to respond to Carson with what was meant to be a firm ‘No, Mr Carson’, but it wound up coming out hoarse and weak, as though he had just woken from a powerful sleep.

But Carson seemed satisfied, turning back to his own food without further comment.

Thomas was left, breathing shakily, staring into space.

All about him the clatter of plates, scrapes of chairs, conversations and chuckles continued amongst the staff, making Thomas feel, in his solitary silence, like a desolate ghost; a soul misplaced en route to somewhere better.

‘Well _I_ don’t like a woman in a corset…’

The volume of Jimmy’s voice had been steadily rising throughout the meal and Thomas was not so far gone in tiredness as to miss the fact that the phrasing of such raucous sentiments in so loud a tone was deliberate. Very deliberate.

‘…they should go for a more natural state; appreciate the curves.’ Said Jimmy loudly to Alfred, holding up his water glass in a mock toast to the feminine figure.

‘Corset’s _make_ curves.’ Alfred rebutted.

Thomas counted the seconds before Carson’s intervention.

‘I am astonished that I am required to inform you that such matters are not fit for discussion in mixed, or indeed _any_ , company.’ Carson interjected firmly.

‘Why should appreciating women be an inappropriate topic for discussion?’ Said Jimmy breezily.

‘That is the _second_ time you have answered back against my expressed wishes today.’ Said Carson sternly, rising out of his seat (as indeed the rest of the occupants of the table went to do before quickly being directed to sit back in their seats, Jimmy included) for effect. ‘Now I appreciate there are…extenuating circumstances…’ Thomas knew, with perfect clarity, that were there not a dozen spectators present, Carson would have taken that moment to look darkly in his direction. ‘…which can be brought to bear to explain your behavior today, but be aware that allowances made for such ‘extenuating circumstances’ can only go so far.’

‘Yes Mr Carson.’ Said Jimmy quickly.

As Carson, Jimmy, and the rest of the table went back to their food, Thomas remained motionless.

His jaw was clenched tight, his hands clasped so hard in his lap as to white the knuckles, his lip bit to keep it still, his shoulders hunched high; as he tried desperately not to cry.

But everything was bleakness and detachment, and he was very _very_ tired.

Helpless, he leaned his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands. Sobbing.

It took a matter of seconds for the movement of cutlery against plates to cease. A hush descended over the servant’s hall as they stared in utter bewilderment (save Jimmy, who looked suddenly terrified) at the disintegration of Thomas’s usual composure.

Mr Carson looked away in alarm from Thomas’s state, looking to Mrs Hughes for guidance (a thinly veiled ploy to attempt to get her to take ownership of the task of extracting Thomas from the servant’s hall in order to establish the cause of the break down).

But Mrs Hughes, firm in her resolve that the primary responsibility to the men servants fell to Carson, and of the opinion that the grudging working relationship between Carson and Thomas was in dire need of some honesty and intimacy, made it abundantly clear in her expression that Carson was on his own.

‘Mr Barrow…’ Said Carson, awkwardly avoiding the curious gazes of the other staff. ‘…will you please join me in my office.’

Thomas got slowly to his feet, defiantly resisting the temptation to try to cover up his tear streaked face as he walked out of the room, desperate to maintain a least a tiny semblance of dignity; Jimmy nervously watched him go.

‘Thomas…’ Said Carson gruffly, dispensing with formalities the moment the office door closed. ‘…I shall come directly to the point…’ The level of his anger and discomfort was evident in his face, but also in his decision to remain standing rather than sinking into the authoritative position afforded by his desk and chair. ‘…this household has already suffered more than enough indignities as a result of your…attachment…to James. I shouldn’t need to remind you that your position in this household is contingent upon your personal preferences being kept out of Downton in _any_ way, shape or form.’

He paused, clearly not finished, but expecting something by way of penitence from Thomas before continuing.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Carson.’ Thomas obliged softly.

The uncharacteristic meekness drew a hint of softness to Carson’s expression, but he had his piece to say to Thomas, and he was determined to do so.

‘I appreciate the difficulties of your situation, though I hasten to add I do _not_ take them as justification for causing discomfort to this household…’ Carson continued. ‘…but even were you of a normal sort…’ Carson was surprised at Thomas’s complete lack of reaction to being classed as ‘abnormal’, but persevered. ‘...constant pursual of an uninterested party, particularly when the aforementioned has made every effort to extend the hand of friendship, when they could be easily forgiven for not electing to do so, is to be considered perverse and disrespectful; not to mention an intolerable compromise to working relationships and, consequently, service.’ Thomas visibly shrank into himself at the barrage of words that showed no signs of abating. ‘You must appreciate, Thomas, the unforgivably awkward position you are putting James in by your constant harassment and inability to keep your…urges…at bay. I simply cannot see what you hope to achieve by hounding James, even when he’s made it perfectly clear he is not of your sort. I thought we were past all that. But here we are.’ Carson paused to sigh. ‘You will make things far better on yourself if you accept that it will not happen between you. And if you can’t, then frankly this household cannot be expected to accommodate your…’

‘It has happened.’ Thomas blurted out, with less than nothing to lose.

‘It…what?’ Said Carson, a hint of terror creeping in behind the anger in his eyes. ‘ _What_ has happened Thomas?’

‘It…happened.’ Said Thomas, shrugging dolefully at the ridiculousness of the situation, finding himself suddenly wanting to laugh…or possibly scream.

‘It…happened.’ Carson repeated dumbly. ‘In _Downton_?!’ He exclaimed.

Thomas couldn’t even bring himself to smile that Carson’s primary concern was for the house at such a time.

‘I didn’t want it to.’ Thomas said quietly but firmly. ‘Or at least, not the way it happened.’

‘You stand before me, admitting to compelling a young man to sin in the household of his Lordship, and believe your transgression will somehow be expunged because it didn’t happen the way you wanted it to?’ Said Carson incredulously. ‘You are a _damnable_ creature Thomas!’

Thomas began to cry again, he couldn’t help it.

‘I really didn’t want it to happen like that.’ He choked out between sobs to Carson, who stood immovable (albeit uncomfortable and enraged) opposite him. ‘And he…’ He trailed off into an only partially audible murmur.

‘What?’ Carson demanded. ‘He _what_?’

‘He hurt me.’

‘…What?’

Thomas took in a shaky breath, looking blankly at the floor through wet eyes as he attempted to piece together the fragments in his mind. ‘I wanted it.’ He said softly. ‘I won’t deny that. But…the way it happened…’ He paused for a moment. ‘…I suppose I wasn’t ready.’

‘Thomas…’ Said Carson slowly. ‘…you make it sound as though you were not the one to be…leading…the encounter.’

‘I wasn’t.’ Thomas said bleakly.

‘But…’

Thomas couldn’t bring himself to look up at Carson; knowing precisely what facial expressions he could expect as the latter grappled with the notion that an older, superior, larger specimen of male was somehow rendered supplicant to another. Thomas declined to point out that he would have been perfectly happy with the arrangement were circumstances different.

‘This is a _very_ shocking insinuation Thomas.’ Said Carson sharply. ‘And I’m sure you appreciate that your word on this matter cannot be…’

‘I’ll go.’ Thomas cut in; no energy left to expend. ‘I’ll give my notice and I’ll go. You won’t have to worry about me causing problems anymore.’

‘Thomas...’ Carson said in astonishment. ‘…Mr Barrow…’ He added. ‘…did you just make a genuine, unconditional, uncompelled, offer of resignation?’

‘Well, yes…’ Said Thomas, frowning in confusion at Carson’s tone. ‘…if you want to be technical about it.’

‘Lord preserve me…’ Said Carson. ‘…it’s true, isn’t it?’

Thomas looked quizzically at him.

‘That James compelled you to…’ Carson cleared his throat nervously. ‘…an indecent act.’

Thomas nodded. ‘Over the table in the servant’s hall.’ He said, compelled to take the chance to share that particular aspect as a way of somehow lessening his repressed shame and distress.

‘He…what?!’ Carson exclaimed, jumping back as though the very table in question had somehow snuck into his office to catch him unawares.

‘That’s what happened.’ Said Thomas quietly.

Carson didn’t speak for a long time.

‘Mr Barrow, I find myself wishing for your sake that James could be removed from employ at Downton.’

‘No. I don’t want…’ Thomas began to exclaim. To have Jimmy removed from his world, even given the present circumstances, was an idea he just couldn’t...

‘It would be best for you.’ Carson asserted, ignoring his attempted protest. ‘But James has shown himself to not be above blackmail in the past, and so to dismiss him on the basis of his actions towards yourself would be foolhardy…So instead…’ Carson continued, looking pityingly at Thomas. ‘…I simply propose that we monitor James’s work performance more closely from here on in, and make it a priority to vigorously note all transgressions, correcting him where necessary, putting in additional training hours, additional duties…until he comes to the conclusion _himself_ that the time is ripe to leave.’

‘Mr Carson…’ Said Thomas. ‘…I think I’ve been remiss in…what I’ve implied. Jimmy did…act as the leader, as you said. But really it’s what’s happened after that’s made it bad…’ He said ineloquently, searching desperately for the words. ‘…he hasn’t been affectionate or kind, and he doesn’t want to talk to me…but I can’t in good conscience accuse him of forcing anything. I wanted it. I just…’ Thomas closed his eyes. ‘…didn’t want him to be so cold afterwards.’ He sniffed. ‘So you see, it’s not fair. Jimmy shouldn’t be compelled to leave because of me.’

Carson shook his head sadly, stepping closer. ‘Mr Barrow, the ‘Thomas’ I know is a creature of comfort and pride. He would not want to be used over a dining table.’ Thomas flinched at Carson’s uncharacteristic frankness, more so as he continued to close the distance between them. ‘Am I mistaken?’ Said Carson, searching Thomas’s face with a concern altogether alien to the lonely man.

Thomas shook his head, face crumpling, unquestioningly burying his face in Carson’s shoulder as Carson placed his arms around him, stiff but soothing.

Carson kept them there for some time.


End file.
